Free Tony Partly Cloudy by Nick Rollins

what?” Jimmy grabbed Tony’s arm. “Tony. Talk to me. Now.”
    Tony let out a sigh. “Well, I don’t know where you guys go when you go, you know, downstairs.” Tony nodded toward the trapdoor. “I mean, I don’t even know if you go outside, or stay inside, or what.”
    Tony quickly added, “And I don’t want to know. But on the off chance that you’re maybe going somewhere, you know, outside , I couldn’t help but notice that none of you guys has an umbrella.”
    “An umbrella? What the hell are you talking about?”
    “I’m talking about rain. Next hour or so, it’s going to rain, bigtime.”
    Jimmy laughed. “Tony, have you been outside recently? There’s not a cloud in the sky. And there’s nothing on the news about any rain – hell, the guy on TV said we’re clear through the weekend.”
    “I know,” Tony said. “I’m just saying.”
    “You think it’s going to rain.”
    “Yeah,” Tony said. “I’d pretty much bet on it. I got this feeling.”
    Tony considered telling Jimmy about the gift his grandmother was convinced he had, but sensed the man might not be open to such talk.
    Instead, he simply said, “I’m usually pretty good with the weather.”
    “Is that right?” Jimmy said. He hadn’t seen this side of Tony before. Gone was the cheerful palooka. In his place was a brooding, almost imposing young man, his face furrowed with concern. Jimmy looked at Tony long and hard, evaluating the conversation.
    Then he broke into a smile.
    “Tony, I think it’s great that you’re studying the weather. And we all think it’s terrific, how well you’re doing in school and everything. I bet you’ll turn out to be a hell of a weatherman.”
    “But tonight,” he said, clapping Tony on the arm, “I’ll take my chances.”
    Jimmy walked back to the trapdoor, and began making his way down inside it. He stopped when he saw the look on Tony’s face.
    “Tony,” he said, “I appreciate your concern. You’re a good kid. But we’ll be fine. Forget about it.”
    Jimmy flashed another smile. Then he was gone, followed by the lumbering Eric, who closed the trapdoor behind him.
    Two and a half hours later, the trapdoor opened again, and half a dozen very pissed-off men emerged, soaked to the skin and swearing a blue streak.
    “Jesus Christ,” one said, “it’s a goddamn monsoon out there!”
    The others fell into a chorus of complaints.
    “Fucking thousand-dollar suit, ruined!”
    “You didn’t pay no thousand bucks for that suit.”
    “Says who?”
    “Says me.”
    “Both of you shut up! We’re gonna need a goddamn ark to get home, this shit keeps up.”
    “Man, that was some rain. Talk about cats and dogs. Big fucking cats and dogs. I’m talking lions and Great Danes here.”
    “I don’t know where the hell it came from. I mean, it was clear as a bell when we got here, am I right?”
    “I’m talking fucking panthers and Saint Bernards. Caribous and German fucking shepherds.”
    “Enough with the cats and dogs crap already. And wait a minute. A caribou isn’t a fucking cat. It’s like a panda or something.”
    “Bullshit. A caribou is like some kind of reindeer. Or a moose, maybe.”
    “Whatever. But it’s definitely not a fucking cat.”
    “I’m pretty sure a caribou is—”
    “Guys,” Tony called out, “there’s some towels right there, on the arm of the couch.”
    As the grumbling men lunged for the stack of towels Tony had set up, Jimmy caught Tony’s eye, waiting for the inevitable I told you so .
    Tony didn’t crack a smile. “I heard the rain against my window,” he said, “so I figured I’d put some towels out. You know, in case you guys got caught in it. Man, that storm came out of nowhere, didn’t it?”
    Grabbing a towel, Jimmy looked hard at Tony, waiting for the gloating derision he had expected.
    But Tony wasn’t delivering, apparently finding no need to cause Jimmy to lose face in front of his colleagues. Instead, Tony circulated among his